So Far Apart
by Lady Fael
Summary: Tristan is misbehaving and his parents won't tolerate it. Is it because of Rory? This is about the relationship between the DuGreys and their son, set a little before he goes to Military School. Please review! [Finished]
1. William and Rose DuGrey

So Far Apart

**Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls, period. **

**Setting: A little before Tristan is sent to Military School by his parents.**

"So are we agreed?" the silky male voice hissed at him as though trying to twist itself around him, lock him into a position from which he could not wriggle himself out of. But William DuGrey was hardly listening to his business partner, preferring instead to twirl his black fountain pen between his fingers and let his thoughts drift to his impossible son. Where had he gone wrong? Why was his Tristan behaving this way? What had he done? Was it even his fault that Tristan thought he was the sole misfortune in his young life? "If we are agreed," the manipulating voice repeated, somewhat impatiently, "please sign your name right here." Oh, right. William DuGrey was poised to scribble down a signature on the bottom of a lengthy role of pristine, business-like paper just as a young man with tousled black hair opened the door somewhat hastily, interrupting Mr. DuGrey and his colleague.

"Sirs," the twenty-year-old boy addressed the two men sitting across from each other politely, acknowledging both with a slight bob of the head. Mr. DuGrey and Mr. Selestine both nodded their heads curtly in the boy's direction, Mr. DuGrey in a I-don't-mind manner and Mr. Selestine in a you-better-hurry manner. The boy was shaking a little from what must have been a tiring run up the long flight of stairs that ended in Mr. Selestine's office. Turning to Mr. DuGrey, the boy addressed him. "There has been a phone-call from one 'Mr. Charleston, principal of Chilton High'." Mr. DuGrey groaned aloud and his pen-twirling became significantly more violent. What had Tristan done this time? "He called to report that today, which was an important day at Chilton, as they were having exams, Tristan DuGrey was reported to be absent without excuse, and therefore probably playing Hooky. He requests that Tristan's father, Mr. William DuGrey, consult and speak with his son this evening concerning the events of today."

"Thank you, Sid," William thanked the young man in what he hoped was a neutral voice as he handed him a crumpled dollar bill as a tip. In truth, he felt no thanks toward Sid at all and wished he'd at least had the decency to wait and deliver his unhappy message once Mr. Selestine and he were finished with the money-making business they were attending to. He was horribly embarrassed that Mr. Selestine should know what a terribly, unbelievably bad, misbehaving boy he had. He would think it was William's fault Tristan was this way and think badly of him, which was not good for business at all. He could feel his cheeks reddening as he picked up his black leather briefcase, nodded a curt goodbye, we'll-finish-this-later sort of nod, and then was out the door as soon as possible.

Mr. DuGrey stamped angrily down the stairs, huffing and puffing with fury at his son, his knuckles, clutching the black leather briefcase full of formal papers, were white and his face was an interesting white-spotted red. William DuGrey didn't like to get angry. No, in fact, he hated it. And yet he got angry all the time since Tristan had started the new school year. Sometimes he had misgivings and thought about disowning his son. But he knew that would never happen. You could choose your friends but you could not choose your relatives. Tristan was his son no matter what, and nothing, he sometimes thought miserably, could change that. And as long as Tristan was his son, he had to deal with him as his son. This meant he was responsible for the damn boy and his god-damned stupid actions. What a burden. But it was his cross to bear, William told himself firmly and yet rather forlornly. Ooh, Tristan was going to get it when he got home. He was going to have a taste of William Janan DuGrey at his worst.

-&-

"Yes, Hello? This is the _Royal Family Fashion Saloon_; may I ask who is calling?" a sweet, sugar-coated voice with a slight, cute accent answered the phone. The woman who owned this voice was honey-blonde, tall and slender, with big, bright blue eyes and was a stickler for fashion. She had on several coats of blue eye-shadow, red lipstick, blush, and blood-red nail polish on all twenty of her long, manicured nails. She wore a lengthy, rose-red dress that freely exposed her showy curves and clung to her body as though for dear life. It ended somewhere before her ankles and began somewhere a little too low for modesty, no-sleeved and with a 'fashionable' slit running up the side of the right leg. She was pretty, she was rich, and she owned a Fashion Saloon that offered manicures, pedicures, hair-styling, makeup-applying and lots and lots of showy clothes. She was also, unquestionably, Rose DuGrey.

"This is Janice Dowell, calling in to make sure that the sea-blue dress, the one with the little green beads on the hems, is still available?" a tentative, insecure sort of voice answered hesitantly. Rose quickly said a rushed, "Wait just a moment" and, pressing the phone against her stomach so that nothing she said would be heard by Janice Dowell called out shrilly in her most unpleasant, commanding voice.

"Does anyone know if the Newbury Port dress is still in stock?"

Daisy Conner called back while pinning up a woman's brown locks into a tight, ballerina-bun, "Yup! Third shelf on the right in the storage room. Saw it there just an hour ago."

Rose nodded her thanks to Daisy and then put the phone back to her ear, adopting her sugar-coated tone again. "Indeed it is, Madame. Would you like us to keep it in a special place for you? That would be an extra five dollars." Rose was an expert businesswoman; reserving usually came free, but she could tell that this Janice was too unsure of _herself _to try to challenge this. And, although she knew somewhere in the deep, dark, unexplored crevices of her mind that she didn't need the extra five dollars and Janice probably did, Rose did it anyway.

"Um…yes, I would like to put it on hold please. It's for my daughter, her first prom, you see and I really-"

"Yes, yes, I'll make sure to put it on hold," Rose quickly interrupted before Janice could start bothering her about the petty, uninteresting details of her life and then sharply hung up. Turning to Daisy, she called out, "Put the Newbury Port dress on hold when you get the chance, Daisy! I'm going out for a while to get some fresh air. All these intoxicating fumes…they get to a woman after a while." Rose walked over to a row of hooks and selected her rabbit-fur coat from one of the hooks, put it on, and was about to walk out the glass doors of her shop when the phone rang again.

Irritated, she stomped over to the phone, picked it up in one slender, perfectly nail-polished hand and said, "Yes, Hello? This is the _Royal Family Fashion Saloon_; may I ask who is calling?" in her sugar-coated voice. Rose was surprised to hear a no-nonsense, deep male voice answer her.

"May I talk to Rose DuGrey please? This is Mr. Charleston, principal of Chilton High." _Chilton High…was that the school her son went to? _

"This is Rose DuGrey, how can I help you Mr. Charleston?"

"Oh, hello Mrs. DuGrey. I was just calling to-"

"I prefer 'Madame DuGrey' if you please," she informed Mr. Charleston without hesitation. Mr. Charleston sounded a little taken aback but continued anyway.

"Madame DuGrey, I was calling to talk to you about your son. It was found out that he was playing Hooky today while the most important exams of the year are going on. If you could just talk to him when you're both home this evening that would be helpful."

"Thank you for the information, Mr. Charleston," Rose told him sweetly, trying to keep the chilly tones from creeping in. "I will try to talk to Tristan tonight. Goodbye." And with that she hung up.

Rose DuGrey walked out of her Saloon nearly seething with rage. She had been planning to go to that expensive restaurant tonight, the one that served the most marvelous fat-free jell-o she had ever tasted, and now she would have to cancel. She would have to pay to use a dirty, vulgar taxi to get home to Hartford, and then she'd have to give her son a lecture. And it was his entire fault. If only he could be less conspicuous, a simple studious little boy. If only she didn't get so many phone calls from his school every week, asking her to talk to him about this and about that. Now she would have to go home again, for the second time that week, and she usually only went home once a month or so, preferring to stay at one expensive hotel or another. So much quieter, so much more comfortable, and so much more practical. When she did get home that night, she told herself, Tristan really was in for it. She planned for him to get a taste of Rose DuGrey at her worst. He wouldn't soon forget that evening.


	2. The Worst of William and Rose DuGrey

So Far Apart

**Disclaimer: No, none of these characters belong to me, period.**

**Setting: Shortly before Tristan's parents get it in their heads to send their little 'problem' off to Military School.**

Tristan sat at his large, mahogany, luxury dining-room-table with a porcelain, hand-painted bowl of red and green grapes before him, pretending to read Shakespeare's _A Midsummer Night's Dream _to impress his parents. Worked every time. They would come in, take one look at their 'darling, studious Tristan' and leave him alone. It was all he wanted, really, where his parents were concerned. To be left alone. He chuckled deviously to himself when he thought of that day: Duncan, Bowman and him had gone to see a thriller movie – a good one, too – and laughed the whole time when they thought about the other students stuck doing those boring exams. Suckers.

And then, unavoidably and as always, his thoughts strayed to Rory Gilmore. Her soft, dark brown curls falling to her shoulders like a halo to frame her face, her lively, innocent blue eyes making her seem so fragile, her porcelain skin…God, she was making him poetic. Now that was the extreme. Chuckling again, Tristan let his eyes wander away from the Shakespearean classic and over to the expensive, fashionable microwave sitting in a corner of his tiled kitchen. _Beeeep_, it went, and he reluctantly pushed his chair away from him while standing up, placed the book on the table, and went over to the microwave. He opened the little glass door and pulled out a plate with a chicken leg on it. His dinner. Not like his parents were around to make him anything better.

When Tristan sat down at the table again, he pushed the expensive bowl of grapes away from him, dropped the book on the floor next to his chair, and started to ravenously devour the chicken leg. His lunch that day had been a few handfuls of popcorn. But it had been good, he admitted to himself, no matter how hungry he was now. It had all been worth it. Done with the chicken leg, he stayed still in his chair and flung it into the waiting trash can like a basketball player, though he hardly ever touched a basketball. It flew straight and landed inside the bin among all the other rubbish there. Was his life in there? It sure belonged in the trash can, among the banana peels, the bones and the ground-up coffee beans.

Thinking of the trash made him think of his parents. Not like they ever thought about him. Not like they cared. He didn't care about them either, except when the decided to enter his life briefly to inflict torment and other forms of torture on him by opening their perfect, lipstick-slathered mouths, as in the case of his mother. Tristan suddenly wondered how he would feel if he ever received the news that they'd been killed in a train/car/plane crash. Would he be relieved? Happy? Angry? Sad? Surprised? No, not surprised. Not with the amazing speed his amazingly careless mother drove with. Especially when she was drunk, which was often. But would he be sad? Um…probably not. They were like pestering strangers to him and he only referred to them as his parents because that was what they were called. Angry…why would he be angry? That they'd just left him like that? Maybe. Happy…well yes, that they were out of his life, but no, since then everything would be so much more complicated. Relieved…that they were finally gone? Again, all those complications. But otherwise their death might be welcome.

He was just thinking these somber thoughts when Rose DuGrey crashed angrily through the large mansion doors. "MRS. WHITE!" she yelled at the top of her lungs, calling to their head maid. The maid in question ran up to Rose looking terrified and quaking in her boots. "Take my coat and have it disinfected; it touched a taxi seat," Rose demanded huffily. Mrs. White nodded quickly and then scurried off clutching at the heavy rabbit-fur coat. After smoothing down her dress, Rose called out, "TRISTAN!" even louder than she had when she called for Mrs. White. Somewhat subdued by his mother's rage and feeling a bit like sneaking out a side window, Tristan didn't respond while his mother clacked around the house in her high heels looking for him and screaming out his name.

Finally she came to the kitchen, where she found a stunned, stock-still Tristan. Her features were pale with rage and her lips were especially red, her mouth hanging slightly open, ready to scream again. Tristan was petrified, to say the least, the moment Rose started talking. "I received a call today at my shop. Do you know who it was from?" she asked, adopting the sugary tones she used when answering the phone. It only terrified Tristan more. "It was from a certain 'Mr. Charleston'," she informed him, a fake smile plastered on her equally fake lips. _Damn. _

"Mr. Charleston?" Tristan croaked, doing some fast thinking. "Oh! You mean that teacher that's got it in for me. Well, he doesn't like me for some reason so he's always trying to get me in trouble, and he probably thought it would be fun to call you and-"

"Tristan William DuGrey, close your mouth. You look like a fish. And lying, for you, is most unbecoming," Rose informed him steely, her lips pursed and white. Tristan nearly quaked. "As I was saying before you started sprouting lies, Mr. Charleston called me at my Saloon. Mr. Charleston, it turns out, is, most curiously, not a teacher at all but the principal of your school. And he does seem to 'have it in for you', but with good reason. It appears you were not present during the exams, Tristan, and therefore he supposes you were playing Hooky. But I, as your mother, know that that is not possible. _My _Tristan wouldn't do that. _My _Tristan would never even consider it. So how is it possible? Two _respectable young gentlemen _both claim the truth?"

Tristan opened his mouth to speak but was stopped when the front door banged open again and the deep voice of his father commanded the presence of Mrs. White once more. The quaking maid ran up to him and took his black leather briefcase, hauling it away into the coat room as she had with Mrs. DuGrey's coat. Rose looked at her son with triumph shining in her eyes; William was here. Tristan was going to have a very hard time.

William DuGrey walked into the room much calmer than his wife though his features were that blotchy red-white that Tristan knew meant he was very angry. As soon as he entered the room a gloomy yet calm atmosphere enveloped them all. William was generally like that, but Tristan could relate more to his mom when it came to anger. "Tristan," Mr. DuGrey said in that infuriatingly calm way of his, sitting down in a chair opposite his son. "I got a call today from Mr.-"

But Tristan had heard enough. He was absolutely sick of it. "…from Mr. Charleston, saying how bad I am. _I know. _And I don't care! You haven't cared about anything concerning me at all until now, until a phone call disrupts your perfect lives and you _have to _care. Why do you think I'm misbehaving? Because I feel like it? No! Because that's the way you brought me up; you taught me that no one cared what I did, what I felt, what I wanted, what I didn't want. So why should I obey you if no one cares?" Tristan's tones had mounted until he was yelling nearly as loudly as his mother had when she first came home and he could feel that he was red in the face. Sometime, he didn't remember when, he'd pushed the wooden chair away and stood up, and now it was lying on the floor behind him. In one furious motion he wiped his arm across the table and the porcelain bowl containing the grapes slid across the table and crashed onto the tiled floor to break into a thousand little shards. If Tristan had stayed he would have observed that it symbolized the relationship between his parents and him; broken into a thousand little pieces. But he didn't stay. He had stormed out of the room the second after the bowl fell, stomped up the stairs to his room, and fell on his bed, seething.

-&-

When Tristan had calmed down somewhat, after he'd heard the door slam twice, signaling that his parents had marched out of the house again, he reflected. Why _was _he doing this, acting like this? Was it to get his parents' attention? No. He'd never cared about whether his parents paid attention to him or not since he was ten years old. Was it to make them angry? No. He didn't like it when they were angry; they paid attention to him when they were angry. Was it to make his teachers angry? No. To skip the exams he so hated? Not really. To have fun watching a movie with Duncan and Bowman? No. Why, then?

'_It's because of Rory,' _a faint little voice whispered inside him. Was it because of Rory? It was, he confirmed a little bitterly. Why would he misbehave to get Rory's attention, though? She went for the good guys, not the bad boys. That was just her. She was too much of a Mary. Didn't he know that already? That as long as he acted as a jerk or tried to look tough by playing hooky, getting in trouble and hanging out with Duncan and Bowman, she would stay away more than ever? But what else could he do? He liked her so much and she despised him. When he tried to ask her out, tried to be nice to her, she'd always refused. So what else could he do? There had been only the one option left, really.

But maybe he could try the other way. Maybe he could undergo a transformation, shock his parents and Rory by becoming a new-and-improved Tristan who was simply a goody-goody like that stupid Dean Forrester that she liked. Yes, that was what he would do. No more Duncan. No more Bowman. No more playing Hooky. No more skipping school. No more being bad. No more getting into trouble. He would accomplish it all. For Rory.

**A/N: I will not post the third chapter of So Far Apart (which I am done with and is just waiting to be posted) until at least two more people review! Otherwise, what's the point if no one reads it? So please please review if you want to see that third chapter.  
And thank you very very much to Curley-Q for the much needed FYI and the review!**


	3. Tiger Fire and a Revolutionary Idea

So Far Apart

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything pertaining to Gilmore Girls, period.**

**Setting: Some time a little before Rose and William decide to send Tristan to Military School. **

**Thanks to: Curley-Q for being the first reviewer and for giving me that important FYI. **

"Hey, Tristan!" Duncan called out. Tristan didn't even turn around to acknowledge the presence of his once-friend. "Tr-ris-sta-an!" he yelled, jogging up to Tristan, a little red faced from the exertion. "Hey, what's wrong with you? We're your friends, man!" he reproached him. But still Tristan went on walking toward the big doors of Chilton High, his backpack bouncing up and down as he walked. Bowman decided to give it a try.

"Tristan, come on! What's wrong?" And then something seemed to occur to the oaf. "Oh, I get it." He grinned obnoxiously. "It's because he got busted for not going to school yesterday. Well, we can help him with that, can't we, Duncan?" Duncan grinned just as widely as his friend and they gave each other devious looks. Tristan was confused, though he was still pretending not to hear or care. "Hear that, Trisha? We can help you with that little problem. Piece of French-fry." Tristan was interested now, but still he didn't turn around.

"OK then. What was that restaurant that's having its grand opening today, Bowman? Wasn't it Tiger Fire, the one we've all been dying to go to for ages while it was being built? And they're going to be giving away free samples, right, Bowman? Well, looks like we'll have to go there alone, just the two of us, if Trisha's being such a stickler." Tristan's stomach betrayed him by grumbling, and Duncan and Bowman slapped each other high-fives, knowing he would give in soon.

Finally, Tristan turned around to face them. "Look, guys, I'm not going to do this anymore. No more playing Hooky or anything. I just want to get through this school year OK, go through college, and then have a life. And I can't have a life if I keep acting up like this. Get it? Unlike you, I am looking forward to having a _life. _So leave me alone."

Duncan turned to face Bowman, and Bowman shrugged. "Alright then, Trisha. We'll leave you alone. But don't expect us to bring you some of those grilled chicken legs Tiger Fire is giving away." With that, he pulled a crisp, square piece of paper out of his pocket, as did Duncan. On it was written, _'Please excuse Bowman. He has an appointment with his Psychologist today. –Anne' _Tristan was impressed. So that was why they never got in trouble. They forged their parents' handwriting and pretended they were off seeing their psychologist, which the teachers would readily believe.

"Does that really work?" Tristan asked before he thought more about it, looking at the notes skeptically. Duncan and Bowman nodded, eager. Soon, Tristan found himself with a note of his own in his hand. _'Please excuse Tristan. He has an appointment with his Psychologist today. -William.' _

-&-

William DuGrey found himself twirling a blue fountain pen in his right hand over and over, much the way he had yesterday, his thoughts straying to Tristan. Impossible, misbehaving Tristan. Did the boy know that he really did feel some affection for him, sometimes? That he did actually care if Tristan got through High School or not? This time, he was sitting across from one, 'Patricia Egging,' a pleasant woman with a deep tan and light brown hair. She was talking to him nonstop, but William found it hard to pay much attention to her. 'Sign this, sign that, the benefits are this, the benefits are that, money, money, money.' It wasn't as though he needed more money. And every second William expected Sid to burst in with the phone in his hand. 'Sir, it's from a "Mr. Charleston, principal of Chilton High"…'

Ms. Egging went on and on and on. Such a bore. Finally, William decided that he wouldn't suffer this just to get a few thousand more dollars. He certainly didn't need it. "Excuse me, Ms. Egging," he interrupted her, just as she was saying something about the benefits of signing the form and how much money he would get from it. Patricia looked horrified that Mr. DuGrey had interrupted her so readily. "I really have to go. If you'd excuse me…?" He looked at his watch for emphasis, and when William looked up he saw Ms. Egging nodding her head, looking a little confused.

"Certainly, certainly. If you'd take the form with you…?"

"No thank you, Ms. Egging."

"Erm…if you think it's better that way…"

"I do."

"Um…OK. If you would just let me write down my e-mail address for you so you can contact me?"

"No need. Goodbye."

And with that William left her, gaping like a fish at how rude he'd turned out to be.

He really did need some time off though. Maybe he'd go to that new restaurant, Tiger Fire, was it?

-&-

They were just leaving the restaurant, Bowman and Duncan wiping emphatically at their filthy, greasy mouths and Tristan finishing up a chicken leg, when the BMW pulled up outside the restaurant. Tristan thought his heart had stopped. What was his dad doing here? Had someone tipped him off? More importantly, what would he do when he saw Tristan?

_He won't see me, _Tristan decided. Quickly, he ducked underneath a nearby bush and waited, watching in terror, as his father entered the restaurant. When William DuGrey saw Duncan and Bowman, he frowned, his forehead crinkling. "What are you two boys doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at school? Oh, playing Hooky, are you. I see."

Luckily, William, Duncan and Bowman had never seen each other before. "No, sir. The teacher just sent us to get him some chicken…He likes his chicken, he does," Duncan made up, his excuse pathetically feeble. William didn't seem to believe a word of it, but he didn't care enough to interrogate them further. Instead, he ducked inside the restaurant and Tristan quickly seized his friends, hauling them away as fast as possible.

"What was _that_?" Bowman asked, horrified, when they were safely outside the doors of Tristan's mansion.

"_That _was my father," Tristan told him severely, pushing open the door and running up the stairs to his room, leaving Duncan and Bowman at the bottom, perplexed. That had been a close one. Too close.

"Hey, Tristan!" Duncan yelled up the staircase, his voice as greasy and sticky as the food at Tiger Fire had been. "What 'bout tomorrow? Will you join us tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow's Saturday!" Tristan called back.

"So yes or no?" Bowman asked, impatient.

"_No_," Tristan answered, a little frustrated with the two. Did they think he was going to risk his life every day?

"OK, how 'bout Sunday?" Duncan persisted, stubbornly.

Tristan paused, thinking. "Maybe," he told them. And then slammed the door. That was it.

-&-

William DuGrey turned the brass key in the fancy lock and pushed the heavy mansion doors in, then stepped inside his home, wiping his shiny black shoes on the WELCOME mat waiting for him. His shoes squeaked slightly as he walked on the black-and-white tiles toward his bedroom, which looked more like a ballroom. His wife, Rose DuGrey, was already reclining on the bed like a Queen. "Hello, Rose," he greeted her cheerfully. She raised her eyebrows at him.

"Hello, Will. How was work?" she asked a little skeptically. William didn't see why she was acting so strangely.

"Work was great. I actually took a break by going to that new restaurant, Tiger Fire," he informed her happily, carefully removing his black-and-red striped tie and throwing it on the ground for a maid to put away later.

"Oh? How was it? Meet anyone…you know?" she asked him in that same suspicious tone. William was rather puzzled.

"Now that you mention it, I did see Robert Green, an old friend of mine. Is that what you mean?" he tried to help her out by saying.

Rose shook her head and seemed relieved. "No, but it doesn't matter. So…you didn't get any more phone calls from…him?" Her unease had returned.

"Now that you mention it, no! It looks as though our Tristan has decided to-" Suddenly William knew what she had meant. He went to sit beside his wife on the bed and patted her fondly on the shoulder, his smile wide and comforting. "Look, Rose, I think Tristan has changed his ways. And if I do find out that he hasn't, I have an idea."

Rose looked a little less pale, but still seemed dubious. "What? What's your idea, Will?" she asked him, curious.

He twirled a lock of her beautiful hair around his finger thoughtfully. "Well, a friend of mine had a son who misbehaved…once. But then he had this idea, and when his son came back he was completely reformed, the ideal child."

Rose seemed hooked. "What was his idea?" she whispered faintly, gripping William's shoulder with a surprising force. "What did he do with his son?"

"Now, this is just if we find out Tristan has been misbehaving again. Otherwise it's completely unnecessary, you understand, Rose?" he made sure.

Rose nodded eagerly. "Yes, I understand. So what was his idea?"

William smiled at her lovingly. "Military School. In North Carolina."


	4. Life as a DuGrey is Great

So Far Apart

**Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls, nor do I claim to.**

**Setting: Slightly before Tristan's parents decide to send him to Military School.**

"Mr. DuGrey?" a tentative, meek little voice called out to him. Tristan tossed in his King-size bed and mumbled something about a dream. Frightened as she was, Nelly didn't give up so easily. "Master Tristan?" she asked, hesitantly but as firmly as she could, given her meek character. Tristan was now a little more awake than before, but still he was too much in the land of the unconscious to register Nelly's presence. This time he didn't say anything about a dream but lashed out weakly with his right arm. Nelly bit her lip and then called out, loudly for her, "Tristan DuGrey!" Tristan's eyes cracked open with an effort, glazed over with sleep. He squinted at Nelly and then was suddenly out of bed, standing in front of her in his striped pajama trousers, wearing no shirt as the weather was hot. Nelly blinked in surprise and then blushed.

"Oh god, Nelly," he groaned. "How long did it take to wake me up? Will my parents punish you? I hope I don't-" Tristan sounded very distressed. He bit his own lip to slow his tirade, and then took a deep breath. "Sorry, Nelly; they can't fire you!" And with that he dashed into the closet. Nelly watched, breathless, as the closet door suddenly opened and there stood Tristan in his clothes, a gray sweatshirt on top of a sleeveless white shirt, his pants slightly wrinkled, baggy blue jeans with a few fashionable tears and scratches in them. He grinned at her uncertainly, running his hand through his messy and yet dashing blonde hair. "How do I look?" he teased, turning himself so Nelly had a good view. Again, she blushed and again, he didn't notice. "Like a DuGrey?" he asked, and then his mood sobered. He thanked her for waking him and then dashed out of the room. "DuGrey," she heard him muttering. "Like a DuGrey."

Nelly stood there clutching the letter that Rose, before she left hastily, had sent her to give to Tristan and shook her head in wonder, as well as to clear it. Tristan was a strange boy. Smiling to herself, she tossed the letter in the bin – worthless letter anyway, telling him to stay out of trouble or he'd get sent to some kind of school – and went downstairs to make him breakfast. Ooh, Master Tristan was a strange boy. But she liked him. She did. More than she liked his parents for sure. He contained none of William's calmness, none of his patronizing manner or his firm sternness. None of Rose's arrogance, her flair, her belief that being beautiful was everything. He was handsome. But he didn't flaunt it as much as his mother. And he was a rebellious boy, too. Nelly sadly thought to herself that that trait might get him into deep trouble yet.

-&-

Tristan gobbled down a breakfast of raisin-bread sprinkled with 'the finest honey in Hartford' and a cup of strong, pungent coffee. It was black and almost spicy, the way he liked it, and he enjoyed the warmth spreading through him as it made its meandering way to his stomach. Sitting back against his seat and sighing in pleasure as he felt the last sip of coffee inside him, Tristan couldn't help thinking, _the way I want Rory inside me. Or me inside _her. He was instantly disgusted with himself. In what direction were his thoughts going? Rory was a _Mary. _

Tristan stood up, adjusted his sweat-shirt as a nervous habit, and straightened out his slightly wrinkled jeans. He went over to his sheet of Math Homework but couldn't concentrate at all. He hated math, geometry in particular. All those silly numbers. It was virtually impossible. Tristan shook his head sadly, and then an image of Rory, her dark, silky-brown hair falling around her bent-over face like a curtain as she studied a sheet of paper intently, her bright blue eyes fixed on the parchment and her slender fingers playing with her pencil, flitted through his mind. He had to close his eyes quickly and then blink a few times to banish the scene. But it kept coming back as he struggled with his own work. This was impossible.

Tristan angrily dropped the sweatshirt on his seat and shivered a little as the thorough air-conditioning tickled his skin. Then he called out to Nelly that he was going out for a while and slipped outdoors gratefully. There was only one thing he could do to banish the thoughts of Rory, he knew.

_Shoot, _Tristan cursed as he surveyed the sleek, paved driveway and realized his mother must have taken the BMW they claimed was his to work that day. Wasn't her Porsche good enough? Or a rented limousine? No, she had to have the BMW. Tristan rolled his eyes and then reached in his pocket for his shiny cell phone and dialed Duncan's number. He was going to go see Rory, no matter what.

-&-

"So, where are we going?" Duncan asked for the third time, a sloppy and infuriating grin plastered on his face. Tristan gritted his teeth next to him in the front seat and rolled his eyes at Duncan. He'd already told him, four times! "Oh yeah! You wanna go see _Mary. _To get the _homework._" He smirked. Tristan fumed but said nothing. It would do no good anyway. Duncan was like that; he'd get over it.

A half-an-hour later, while Tristan fumed and groaned and clenched his teeth and fists, the tedious journey was finally over. Tristan let out a sigh of contentment and then started getting out of the car when Duncan grabbed a handful of his sleeveless shirt and squealed, "Hey! I drove you all this way; you _gotta _pay me!" Tristan stared at him in disbelief, and then handed him a twenty dollar bill from his wallet, shrugging; the loss of the twenty was nothing. Then he watched Duncan's ratty SAB drive away, leaving the acrid stench of gas behind. Tristan wrinkled his nose and then turned to the door of Rory's house.

He took a deep breath and knocked, plastering a cheesy, casual grin on his face for Rory. He was relieved when Rory, not her mother, opened the door. She had a similar grin on her face, expecting to have to greet visitors with fake politeness, but when she saw him it slipped and a frown replaced it. "_Tristan!_" she hissed, angrily. Tristan blinked once at how frustrated she seemed; she hated him that much?

Without missing a beat he tactfully replied, "The one and only," as he leaned against the doorway, his face inches from hers. Rory flinched away, looking as though she really wanted to spit in his haughty face. She had no idea it was a mask. What _he _really wanted just then was to take her in his arms and…getting poetic again.

"So why did you come, _Tristan_?" Rory demanded. Anger clouded her blue eyes as she kept one hand on the door, ready to slam it. "To torture me further? Can't get enough of it at school?" _Can't get enough of _you.

Tristan was spurred on by that thought. He rudely pushed past her into the house and sat himself down on one of her cheap couches, restraining himself from putting his legs on the glass table next to the couch. "So, Rory, tell me, how've things been?" he asked casually, snatching the mug of coffee on the glass table and sipping at it in a sophisticated manner. Rory gaped at him in disbelief for a while and then the anger crept in.

"Get _out, Tristan_!" she ordered, pointing to the door. Tristan imagined little plumes of smoke rising from the top of her head and that provoked a smirk, which provoked an even more dramatic reaction on her part. Her eyes were nearly clouded over completely with frustration and anger at him. "_Out,_" she ordered again, pointing her finger like a sword.

Tristan refused to move. "Hey," he put up his hands as though she were pointing her finger at him and not the door. "I only came here for the homework I missed. I knew you were a Mary, Mary, so I came to you. So just give me the homework and I'll leave. Chill."

Rory was completely fuming, and she was not convinced. "Oh, yes, you came here just to get the homework, noble, gracious, intelligent as you are. Tristan, I'm not stupid, unlike you. Now get out of my house!" Feeling beaten, Tristan got up from the couch with a fake lazy sigh, and as he passed by Rory he casually pushed down her finger, still pointing as straight as an arrow tip at the door. She scowled at him and he gave her a grin.

"See you, Mary, Monday," he told her cheerily, as though she were sending him away with tea and biscuits – or rather coffee and highly fatty cake, knowing her and Lorelai. "It'll be all your fault when I fail that test though, because you refused to give me the notes." He winked at her and Rory's mouth opened to protest, her hand also ready to slam the door on him as he stood on the porch. But before she could speak he reached out and closed the door himself. "Bye, Mary!" he called out loudly so that her neighbors, sitting outside on their emerald-green lawn with the cat in their lap, could hear. "See you Monday, darling!" He watched in satisfaction as her eyes, behind the open window, flitted to her neighbors who watched the two curiously. Later they would ask her, 'Oh, so you have a boyfriend Rory? How nice,' depending on if they were the nosy type, which they appeared to be. Tristan gave her a last mock little wave and then scampered, heading toward the Bus Station.

Well, that had been a disaster, he thought to himself grimly, slumping down in his torn, stained bus seat. But that was no surprise, considering his whole life was a disaster. Rory was the single purity, the only thing to look forward to when he woke up in the mornings, and she hated his guts. Whenever he was around her, he had to be obnoxious, so that was no surprise, really. Oh, perfect. Life sure was good. Being a DuGrey was barrels of fun.


	5. He didn't know

So Far Apart

**Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls, OK?**

**Setting: A few paragraphs away from Tristan leaving to Military School.**

**Thanks to: Lady Ilyre for her detailed review! I sure do need more of those. **

**Important Note: **_**This is the last chapter, guys!**_

_Rrring, _went the silver mobile phone. _Rrring, rrring, rrring…_ it persisted stubbornly until Tristan groaned in distress, reached out one hand and was prepared to shut it off when he heard Bowman's clear voice coming out of the phone. "Hey dude, it's Bowman. Just wonderin' if you haven't chickened out yet and really wanna come with us today. Cause, I gotta tell ya, today's gonna be real special. I have an idea…top secret, though. You have to come over to my house if ya wanna hear my idea. Ok then, bye Trisha." There was a click and the phone automatically shut itself off. Now Tristan could finally get some sleep. No such thing; he couldn't sleep again after hearing that. And besides, it was nine in the morning.

Tristan groggily got up from his bed and trudged over to his large closet, pulling out a black, short-sleeved shirt and white shorts. He was too tired to have any fashion sense at this point. Who cared what he wore? _Rory. _No, she didn't care, she hated him. Grimly, Tristan went downstairs for a quick breakfast and then picked up his cell-phone, dialing Bowman. _Rrring, Rrring, Rrri- _"Hello, this is Bowman. What'd ya want?" Bowman's voice welcomed him.

"Well, I wanted to know what it was you had in plan for today," Tristan informed Bowman with a hint of anger at the edge of his voice. "But if you don't want me anymore, fine."

"Whoooaaa, Trisha, calm down man! That is so not what I was trying to say! I just thought you were my dad…and we sooo want you to come with us today. It's gonna be great." Tristan could almost see his friend's sloppy grin through the phone.

"So what are you planning?" Tristan asked a little impatiently.

"Can't tell you over the phone! Way too top-secret. You have to come over."

Tristan was frustrated now. "Look, Bowman, if you don't tell me now, this second, over the phone, I am definitely not coming," he threatened.

Bowman sounded nervous. "Alright, alright," he agreed. Then he lowered his voice to a whisper and said, "I have this key to my dad's safe. We're gonna break in and then blame it on the servants. Think of all the money we'll have…"

Tristan wanted to shut the phone off then and there. He didn't need money. He didn't need trouble. "Absolutely not," he declared, and then hit the off button. There was no way in Hell he was going to break into Bowman's dad's safe.

-&-

Tristan was lying on his bed again, though fully clothed, his arms folded and his hands behind his head, staring up at his blank white ceiling. It represented his life perfectly; blank. White. Then the phone rang again, breaking the calm, peace and silence. Cursing, Tristan nimbly got up and took the ringing phone in his hand, clicking the on button with surprising force. "Hello," he growled into the receiver.

"Whoops, I was trying to contact Richard Gilmore. Guess this isn't him," the all-too familiar voice chirped, and then the phone went dead.

Tristan was left staring at the mobile in his hand. Rory. Rory was trying to call her grandfather. But why? And then something cold trickled down his back, starting from the tip of his head and spreading to his sneakered feet. Money. She must be short on money. _Bowman…his dad…his dad's safe…so much money…Rory…_

The thoughts were churning inside Tristan's head. And then he realized that he'd made his decision. It had been made for him long ago. He put the cell-phone to his ear again, dialed a number, and then said, weakly, "Hello Bowman. I decided I'm going to come with you guys. You said you had a key, right? So everything should go smoothly? Perfect. Thanks." Tristan was left staring at the phone in his hands again and another wave of coldness engulfed him. What had he done?

-&-

"You have the key, right? So it should be no trouble…right?" Tristan asked for the zillionth time, clutching his mobile as though it were a great source of comfort. His hands were shaking as he surveyed Bowman and Duncan's faces with quickly mounting apprehension. "Right?"

"Chill, dude," Bowman assured him, his usual sloppy grin plastered on his chubby face. Duncan slapped him on the back in what was supposed to be a friendly gesture.

"Yeah, chill, dude," he repeated like a parrot. Oh yes, Tristan felt very safe with them. Especially now. _Chill, dude, _he told himself, taking a deep breath. _For Rory; this is for Rory. _"So, ya ready?" Duncan asked him, picking at one of his filthy nails. Tristan gulped. Was he? No.

"Yup," he told them in a chirpy, falsely cheery manner. God, that sounded fake. But there was no time to go back and rephrase it; Duncan and Bowman were already in the building. No way in Hell was he going to-

"Comin', man?"

"Yup."

-&-

William put his feet on his desk in a triumphant manner as he dialed the number of his wife's cellular with one finger. He was happy. He was, in fact, very content. He was enjoying the third day of not getting a call from Mr. Charleston. And that was all he wanted. It looked like, despite his attitude to them earlier, Tristan had really chosen the right path. And so he was content.

"Rose?" he asked, cheerful.

"Yes, Will?" she asked in an equally serene, chirpy manner.

"OK, bye," he told her happily, knowing by her tone that she hadn't gotten a call either. He'd only needed reassurance.

"Bye!" she told him in a calm and yet cheerful way. William hung up even happier. His Tristan was a good boy.

Just as he hung up the phone rang. William picked it up cheerfully after seeing it wasn't from Mr. Charleston. It was from his old friend Bill. "Hello, Bill," he greeted his old business partner. His feet were still resting on the desk, doing a little dance and scattering papers all over the place.

Bill's guttural voice came from the receiver sounding cold and angry. "Hello, William. You sound happy. Could it be because your son just brought you home $10,000?" he asked, sounding furious in a cold, calm way. William was shocked and his feet slipped slowly off the desk.

"Um…what?" he asked, starting to panic, a wave of cold coming over him. What was this about?

"Oh, so you don't know then," Bill sounded slightly reassured. "Although you could be a very good actor. Though I seem to remember you never were…your eyes always showed your emotions…"

"Excuse me, Bill, but could you tell me what this is about, please?" William asked in a high-pitched voice that resulted from panic. He could hear Bill's frosty laugh coming from the other end.

"I just found my son, Bowman, and his friends, Duncan and Tristan, stuffing the money from my safe into their pockets. Luckily, I have a silent alarm that alerted me to their break-in. I am very disappointed in Bowman, and I don't know what to do with him. However, he assures me that it was all Tristan's idea, and so I hope that you will speak to him at the _very least._"

William felt cold and clammy all over. He replied, equally frosty, "Be assured, Bill, that I have something in mind for my son." And then he hung up. It looked as though it was time to send his boy away, much as he didn't want to.

-&-

"Bye…Mary…" Tristan called to her lamely, and then turned to go out the doors of Chilton for the last time. He just couldn't find words to tell her why he'd done it. She would never understand. And if she did she would only be ashamed he knew that she needed money. So Tristan left her standing and joined his father, jumping into the car with a scowl at William. He felt cold all over, numb even, as though someone had just plunged him into frigid ocean water. He could barely feel sorrow. But he knew later, sitting on some cot in North Carolina, he would.

As Tristan permitted himself one last glance at Rory out of his window, he had the foreboding thought that he would probably not see her again. Certainly not in that uniform, and not as a mere schoolgirl. And when he met her again, she would probably no longer be a Mary. She would belong to someone else.

"Tristan, I want you to know that I'm deeply sorry that I have to do this to you, but I…" _Blah blah blah. _Tristan easily tuned out his father and stared out his car window instead, watching the town he'd been born in, raised in, spent all his life in, go by, and knew that when – if – he ever came back, he would be completely different. Nothing would ever be the same. And he didn't know if he, who had so little respect for them already, could ever forgive his parents for doing this to him.

Soon they'd arrived at the airport and William watched from the car as Tristan got out without saying a word to his father and pushed open the large glass doors without a second look back. William's heart was near to breaking as he watched his son leave like that, clearly thinking hateful thoughts about him. But there was so much he didn't know.

He didn't know that William did love him and care about him.

He didn't know that was why William was doing this.

He didn't know that William had gone to Military School at his age as well.

He didn't know that William had come home changed.

He didn't know that the changes had all been for the good.

He didn't know that Rose, the girl William had loved madly before being sent away, had married him when he returned.

He didn't know that William had seen that look in the dark-brown-haired girl's blue eyes as she watched Tristan leave her life.

He didn't know that that look meant love.

He didn't know that William cared.


End file.
